


bad day.

by Irrwisch



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrwisch/pseuds/Irrwisch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set both pre- and post-Inquisition. So maybe minor spoilers ahead.</p><p>Alistair didn't like bad days. They were... well, bad.<br/>And this bad day seems to be even worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bad day.

**Author's Note:**

> What a lousy description. Sorry. And sorry for the ending, in advance. I didn't know how to end it...  
> Hope you enjoy, though!

It was a bad day.  
Alistair knew it was a bad day when he woke up alone. Ever since they were together and actually sharing a bed, he never woke up alone. She was nobility, used to sleeping in; and he was a warrior, used to rise early. Even when she was having nightmares, she stayed and usually woke him up, if he didn’t wake already by her troubled sleep.  
The King of Ferelden sighed deeply and looked at her spot in the bed a little longer. He enjoyed the time before she woke; usually. He liked watching her sleep, although he would rarely admit that and even if, just with awkward blushing.  
He rolled around and got up, dressing himself in simple clothing. The servants would plunge him back in his room soon enough to properly dress, anyway. He had to attend court today and he didn’t like thinking about that. Adding to that, he had to attend it alone. On a normal day, his wife would be next to him, making sure he wouldn’t mess up things too badly. Somehow, her presence made the court less... terrifying. With her around, they didn’t want to tear into his flesh too badly. Or so he thought. Maybe they still did that and he just didn’t realise, because the Queen deflected a lot of it.  
Alistair groaned. He hated bad days. They were... well, _bad._  
He scuffed through his hair, and headed for the door. Silently opening the door, he peeked out. It was still quiet. Alistair could hear noise from the kitchen and usually he’d go there, get a little bit of cheese and go back happily. Perhaps later. Not right now; right now he had to go look elsewhere.  
He turned the other way and made his way to where his wife would be. It just took him a couple minutes, but on such days, it felt way longer. He reached a locked door and came to a halt in front of it. He gently knocked and asked “Are you inside, my dear?”  
He listened closely; because she would not just shout “Yes asshole” or something perhaps more lovely. The best thing he’d ever gotten out of her was something thrown against the door. He never found out what it was, though. Something behind the door shifted quietly and that was enough. “Four days, my dear”, he said softly. “And then you better not throw a dagger at me again.”  
Something thumped against the door and he backed up. Her mabari was inside with her, it seemed. That thought made him feel a little better. Without saying another word, he retreated from the door. There was nothing he could do now, apart from informing the servants of his wife’s mood.  
  
Court had been tiring, to say at least. But somehow; he still survived it. At days he just thought it’d be better to clear matters with a good duel. That would be faster. And he wouldn’t have to deal with it constantly. He tried to be a good king. It was just harder when she wasn’t around. His wife could always turn the tide. Maker, he still failed at the ‘looking kingly’ part. And now he couldn’t even crawl into her arms so she made it all better. Not even the hound was around to comfort him. What a damn day.  
Tired and exhausted; he stumbled back to their room. He should probably go read all the letters that arrived today. But most of them were Warden Business and he didn’t really have a hand in that anymore. His Queen would handle letters more often, anyway. He had to read them over and over again to make sure he understood what anyone wanted from him. She just seemed to grasp that the first time; Maker knows how she did that. Maybe that was a perk from growing up as a teryn’s daughter. He didn’t really care, though. She was not the best diplomat; but at least she would not break loose a war by saying something stupid – which happened to him far too often. He also tripped too often.  
With a loud sigh, he fell onto the bed. He wanted to shut this day out. Alistair knew he couldn’t, though. Things were important and he had to pay attention. Ferelden was still weak and recovering – he had to fix that. Just about damn anything could ruin the country. And yet, fixing everything seemed too big of a task. Damn that Loghain. Damn that Blight. Everything always swooped down at the same time. Damn that swooping. 

A little while later, there was a knock on the door. Since Alistair just thought it would be Eamon; he muffled something in his pillow. Eamon would come in, anyway. And he was right, the door creaked open. Has it always been creaking? He had to get that fixed. Damn that creaking.  
He felt a weight on the bed, too heavy for a female – he had really hoped his wife would already be better. What nonsense. Annoyed to the core, he muffled into his pillow once more, making the other person sigh very, very deeply.  
“You know, Alistair, you’re acting like a child. You looked like you were _running away_ from the court. Again. Alistair, it’s not so terrifying. They are not eating you alive, you know. You faced worse.” Alistair grunted. “At least I can punch darkspawn and abominations in the face. I can’t do that to the court. I’m sure they bite back and I’m the fool.”  
Eamon sighed again. There were things about this boy that would never change, he feared. “Your weapons are your words, Alistair. They don’t _necessarily_ want to eat you; unless you give them reason.” He looked at Alistair’s backside. “Did you at least pay attention to the letters?” Alistair huffed. “They’re there. Mostly Warden stuff, though. Weisshaupt’s nagging again. I think, at least. They’ll never stop nagging, won’t they? They like nagging, they do. Dearest rips me apart if I read them, Maker save me.”  
Eamon patted the king’s shoulder. Just once he asked the queen about those letters and why she was so very keen about them. Alistair was still a Grey Warden, just not all... officially anymore. But neither was she. Honestly, Eamon had thought her title as Warden-Commander would have been taken away once she actually tended to duties as Queen. Such a thing never happened, though.  
She had told him it was her duty. It was her burden; but never Alistair’s. She was no longer actively in charge of Vigil’s Keep, but still received reports and went to visit often. Eamon just thought Weisshaupt was way too scared of her to take any title away from her. She killed the Archdemon and lived. One simply did not push such a person. And one certainly did not stripe away her titles just like that.  
“At one point, we need to talk about your wife, Alistair.” Eamon said and he already knew this topic was unwanted. “I know Teagan’s eyeing her. Who isn’t? I am eyeing her.” So much was clear; Alistair did not wish talking about it. Every time it came up he shut them down. Alistair was a kind guy. He has always been. He still wore his emotions on the sleeve, but at times; very rarely, his attitude shifted. At this point; he demanded and people either obeyed or did not. The tone of his voice shifted; and the servants secretly called it “Alistair’s king-voice”. And by the Maker, they were right. Eamon liked that voice. Just... not when Alistair directed it at him.  
“She still has not given you an heir, Alistair. I’m sure the court will bring it up soon. They will suggest a mistress. If you would just take one on your own, they won’t...” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Instead, Alistair got up in an instant and started shoving Eamon out of the room. “Yes, I know”, Alistair said, “I am very aware. Thank you, Eamon. You should go now, it is late.” Eamon looked at him. “You can’t deny that forever, Alistair. You are not–“  
With that, Alistair pushed him out. “I do not need you to remind me, Eamon. I am not stupid. But this is my business, no? I am allowed to decide who I am going to screw, yes?” Eamon tried to get back inside, yet Alistair had none of it. “You have responsibilities; it’s not just about-”, Eamon was cut off again, by a very dry “Good night” and a shut door. Sighing, Eamon retired for the night. Alistair had to know this could not last forever. 

Behind the door, Alistair patiently waited until he couldn’t hear Eamon’s footsteps any longer. Then, he hammered his hand against the wall. He was careful not to hit the door, though. Last time he broke the stupid thing on accident.  
Once his hand was numb with pain, he slid down the wall, holding back a cry. Eamon was right. He knew that. He was king; he needed an heir. As well as he knew his wife could never give him that. Grey Wardens just didn’t have children. It was already hard enough with just one Warden in the relationship. With two; the thing was completely fucking impossible. He hadn’t cared. He still didn’t. He didn’t want a mistress. He still felt dirty for what he had done with Morrigan. And now he had to do it again? Multiple times, too? Alistair closed his eyes. Of course he had thought about children; a family. He wanted that. How often had he been lying next to his wife, stroked her belly and thought of her as pregnant? Yet he had always known it wouldn’t happen. He just liked to think about it.  
And now... just with someone else. Like this would be so damn easy. Sure, they were enough candidates – basically every noble family in Ferelden was throwing their daughter his way. Some of them were very beautiful, very nice. Even some he could come to live with, but... he didn’t want. Foolishly, he just hoped this thing would go away.  
He was head over heels. Thinking about family, there was her. Thinking about making love, there was her. Thinking about everything, there was her. He’d burn down all of Ferelden for her.  
They never talked about this. He knew her feelings about it. He could see it in her eyes. It was even harder on her than on him. She failed him. She failed at a wife’s duty. And it was slowly destroying her. His wife, the strongest woman he’d met, crumbled at something that was not her fault. Her “Bad day-ratio” had increased greatly ever since the issue became a more pressing one.  
Alistair didn’t know what to do. Leaning his back against the wall, he hugged his legs tightly. He didn’t even realise he was crying until he noticed his pants getting wet. For the first time in years, he wished Duncan back.  
He hadn’t felt so alone since Ostagar. 

For the next days, he barely spoke to anyone; expect the things he really had to say. He used his “King-Voice”. Normally, that made everyone shut up fairly quickly. Even Eamon didn’t say anything and for that; he was entirely grateful. Well, maybe not entirely. But thankful, still.  
At the end of Day Four, he gathered some food on a plate. His Queen usually came out before his ultimatum counted down to zero, but it was alright. Since her hound was in there too, he gathered a bit more food. Poor animal must be starved.  
Alistair went back to her door and knocked. “It’s Day Four, love. I’m entering and you better not jump me; I got soup.” He did not wait for any kind of response; he went inside and closed the door behind him. He looked up and saw her at her usual spot: crumbled right beneath the window. Her dog popped his head up and barked happily; smelling the foot. Alistair set the plate down and the mabari almost jumped him. Luckily Alistair could evade that. He went over to his way and set the soup down, stroking her arm. “Come on, my dear. That’s the deal. You lock yourself up; I get eaten by the court and then bring you supper.” She didn’t say anything; just uncurled from herself and looked down at the soup. “You didn’t cook”, she simply stated.  
He settled next to her and pulled her onto his lap. “Maker; no. Wouldn’t want to poison you. And if I had, there’d be cheese in it. But it would have the wonderful grey colour you came to adore.” He picked the soup up and handed it to her. Sometimes, it was so worse he had to feed her. But not today. She grabbed the soup and began to eat. In the meanwhile, Alistair hid his face in her hair. She smelled a bit, but he had missed it so much. He always thought about her. Even after all these years, his head was full of her. How could he ever touch someone else like that? She was everything and so much more.  
After she finished eating, she put the plate back on the ground. “I smell, Alistair. Get your nose out of my hair. Can you even breathe?” He snorted and looked at her. She joked. A very good sign. “I’ll happily suffocate while smelling you. That would make the death report so exciting! _Died while smelling beautiful hair_. Not everyone can say that.” He grinned and she frowned. “You are impossible. And still nobody tried to kill you? They must all be so desperate.” He chuckled. “They wouldn’t dare. They are scared shitless of you, my dear.”  
“They better be. I’d still laugh first. And then kill everyone.” Alistair made an unhappy face. “Glad my death would be so entertaining. Anything to make you laugh, little wretch.” She smiled at him and his whole day became a good one. “You always make me laugh, Alistair. No matter how terrible your jokes are. I still love them.” He gently cupped her cheek and bend down to kiss her. Even though the kiss didn’t last long or was very passionate; it was his highlight of the last four days. “I love you”, he whispered. He hugged her in despair and whispered it over and over again. She hugged him in return and he gazed around the room.  
The room was empty.  
It was always empty. No stool, no table, no bed, no shelf. She needed it to be empty, or she could not spend her bad days here. Alistair didn’t know why. Maybe her demons needed space. Maybe she didn’t want to risk hurting herself. Maybe things would be distracting. He saw her dog sitting there; watching them motionless. Alistair was a bit concerned. Her mabari would _always_ wag his tail, pant or try to get into the embrace himself. The fact that he _didn’t_ this time... it was off-setting. He simply watched them with a grieve expression. However grieve an expression on a _dog_ could be.  
Still, Alistair couldn’t help himself. It terrified him and he clutched his wife closer. Normally, she would object now, because he was literally _crushing_ her; however she just seemed to return his stern grip. “I’m terrified”, he whispered, his voice nothing but a cracked whisper. His mouth was so dry suddenly. Her hands gently caressed his back. “Don’t be, Alistair”, she murmured softly. “I’ll save you. I keep them off your back. I do that, right? Do not worry, my love.” Something in her voice had him cracking. She broke off the embrace to look at him. Her eyes were reassuring; as they always were, but something wasn’t right. “You can talk to me” he whispered. “You can always talk to me.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Some things can’t be said. But thank you.” She caressed his cheek while avoiding his eyes.  
She had never spoken about what had happened back at Castle Cousland. Had never said how her parents had died; how she had lost her home for good. Had never said anything about vengeance, beside that she would have it. She had never said anything about her feelings when she had encountered her father in The Gauntlet. Had never said anything about what had happened at Ostagar.  
She talked _so much_ but she never really _said_ anything at all.  
Dreams about the Archdemon, the darkspawn and broodmothers – those she would share with him. When he had a nightmare – about darkspawn, Ostagar, failing as a king – she’d wake him up and comfort him. Once he asked her how she always knew when he had a bad dream and she simply responded “because you slap me in the face”.  
Alistair touched her chin and lifter her face up so he could meet her gaze. Her eyes were of a lovely grey – one that promised a storm. “I’m here”, he said. “I will always be.” And this time, she truly smiled.

It was getting late, he yawned and she chuckled. “Glad to entertain you”, he groaned. “Do you know how much my arse hurts? How can you endure that for _four days_?” She punched his chest. “I’m a Lady, I do not complain about such trivial things.” He snorted. “Course you are – swinging your hind-quarters at me _like a true Lady._ ” She chuckled again. “Everything for you. You do like watching my backside, do you not?” His cheeks blushed and he pinched her ear. Doing that made her yelp so funny. “Anyway, coming out with me?”, he asked hopefully. He had to sleep on his own way too long, now. Much to his dislike, she shook her head. “Not yet. I... Sorry, Alistair.” He sighed and kissed the top of her hair. “Whatever you wish, my dear”, he mumbled into her hair. He then let go of her and stood up. She remained sitting on the ground, looking up. Alistair smiled down at her: “Four days then, again?” She nodded and turned her gaze away. He turned around for the door, he was however stopped. The doorknob already in hand, he felt his wife behind him, pressing her forehead against his shoulders. “Don’t look at me”, she whispered painfully, “but I love you. I love you so much, Alistair. You are everything to me; and so much more... you know that. I love you, Alistair, whatever happens. Don’t you ever dare forget.” With that, she reached for the door herself, pulled it open, pushed him out and closed the door shut again.  
Alistair was a bit taken aback. She never did that. Hesitantly, he looked back at the door; afraid it might have vanished. His heart suddenly felt very, very heavy.  
It took sleep very, very long to find him that night.  
And it also took him very, very long to realise what it had meant; when her dog was tugging on his blankets; when he found nothing but an envelope in her room.  
It didn’t took him long to realise that his heart shattered and he was crying.

_Alistair,_  
I am sorry. I can’t do this to your face. I wanted to... I should have. But I couldn’t. Everyone tells me how strong I am, and this I cannot do. Pathetic, isn’t it? I suppose you wouldn’t laugh at that...  
I really thought I could do this. That I could handle being all this – the Queen, the Hero, the Warden, the Commander.  
The court whispers; they do so very loudly. The one thing I cannot be – a Mother. I want to be able to give you children and yet – the Taint does not allow me. With this, I will never be what is expected of me.  
I am a Cousland – and I do what must be done. 

_Do not look for me. I intend to find a cure for the Calling and I will not come back unless I have been successful. I am coming back. I am your fearless leader; and as such I will succeed.  
If I cannot find a cure, then who can?_

_I will come back. A promise is to keep._

_In deepest love,  
Warden-Commander Cousland_

*

“Are you even listening, my king?”  
If Alistair would be honest – no, not at all. He wasn’t even aware she had been talking. Yet he said “Of course I have. Please continue.” And apparently, the babbling went on. How very _delightful_. He had really gotten better at this – pretending to listen to unimportant people. Although, he maybe shouldn’t think of his current talking company as _unimportant._  
Three years.  
It had been three years now since his Queen had left him in the dead of the night. And each day alone felt like a decade. Which would make him a very old man by now. Alistair was too tired to ponder over how old exactly.  
Without her at his side, he hadn’t been well personally; but he had become a better king. He was better at words now, too. He also didn’t trip on anyone anymore. Eamon was delighted at his sudden devotion and was very impressed with the learning process Alistair made – it didn’t surprise Alistair, though. He had always been a quick-learner; he just never wanted to learn before, really. There have always been better things to do, _funnier_ things. But now... there was nothing else to do; and he also couldn’t rely on his wife if he failed to do something. _His wife._ Alistair flinched. Ever since she disappeared he had ordered not to speak of her, including him. Whenever Teagan came to visit in Denerim, he would try to talk to Alistair about her – Alistair appreciated the thought, but he didn’t want to. Maybe that was why his wife never spoke about her parent’s death to him: some things just couldn’t be said. He had always seen her as a brave warrior – but what if she just desperately covered up how broken she was inside?  
He loved her so desperately. And he hated her in equal matters.

“We’re almost there.”  
This sudden male voice stirred Alistair to life. Irritated he looked to his right and saw Teagan next to him. Almost where; he’d almost ask, but then he remembered. Suddenly he was aware of the horse he was sitting upon and their destination. He’d forgotten. Alistair didn’t bother replying to Teagan and looked ahead instead. They were heading to the Inquisition. The Inquisitor and her friends just recently defeated Corypheus; and he wanted to congratulate them in person. Actually, it was just another excuse to get out of Denerim.  
“I just don’t understand why they have to be in the mountains. It is SO very cold here. And windy. My hair is getting all messy!” Swallowing a very big sigh, he turned his head left. Next to him was the reason he wanted to get out of Denerim: a possible mistress.  
When his Queen had left, she had sent letters. That was the only thing that made her absence bearable. But after a few months; those letters stopped. Against her initial wishes, he had people looking for her, but they all came back empty-handed. He had not heard word from her in over two years; her death was a very likely scenario. Alistair never made a statement regarding this matter, but a year ago he had begun looking for a mistress. He had a duty. He wasn’t enjoying this, but it effectively silenced the court. At present, he had two candidates: the one accompanying him and someone else. He, however, could not remember why she wasn’t here as well. Sick dog? Dead Uncle? Something dead... and sick? He couldn’t remember and he didn’t care. Both women talked too much and rarely did he listen. Alistair hadn’t decided on who would actually _become_ his mistress. Of course, his court said to bend both over and pick whoever got pregnant first. But Alistair wasn’t like that. He wanted just one. Now was only left to determine who didn’t talk too much and wasn’t acting too much like a girl.  
Both were very keen about reassuring him in every matter. They never questioned his decisions and honoured every word that came from his mouth. Alistair hated every single second of it.  
He didn’t want someone who agreed on him on every matter. He wanted, _needed_ someone to keep him on ground, to ask why he did things. He needed someone who would disagree, who would dare to punch him in the face. He needed someone who could make him smile because she thought she looked ridiculous in that dress. He needed someone who wasn’t whining about her hair messed up by the wind. He needed someone who wouldn’t mind blood on her and gore in her hair. He needed...  
His Wife. He just... needed her.  
Just... he couldn’t have that. Not any longer, and his head understood that. His heart, however, still refused to accept it. He wasn’t ready to move on; and perhaps he would never be. Somehow he still hoped for any sign of life from her... even if it was in vain. Their wedding anniversary was drawing near; and this was his ultimatum for now. After that, he would toss a coin and decide who would become his mistress. Alistair had celebrated every anniversary so far – with her dog that never left his side. He didn’t know if his wife had him instructed that way or if the hound simply acted like this on his own. It had taken that dog months not to growl at the women at Alistair’s side. He had even managed to scare a dozen away. You simply don’t mess with a mabari. On his hind-legs, the hound easily outmatched Alistair’s height; and he wasn’t exactly small. It was sad, though. When Alistair had met his wife’s dog, he had seemed like a very large puppy. He was always barking happily, wagging his tail and wanted to play. He just turned aggressive whenever someone attempted to harm his mistress – otherwise the dog seemed no threat at all. But now... he acted different. He wasn’t wagging his tail any longer and he growled at everyone but Alistair – even Eamon wasn’t safe or any of the servants.  
The king heard the dog growl and he looked up. Inquisition soldiers were approaching them, and evaded the large dog respectfully. “King Alistair!”, they said. “We saw you approaching and are sent to you to escort you the rest of the way!” The mabari growled again and the soldier backed off a pace. The hound was content once he was in between the soldiers and Alistair. He waved a hand. “It is appreciated. Thank you. Lead on, then.” Apparently, they couldn’t move fast enough. Inside, Alistair chuckled. Why again did he need personal guard when a simple dog was more than sufficient?  
Something talked to his left, babbling, and he chose to ignore it. Would not be important, anyhow. To Teagan he listened: “And I was told that dog would act like a puppy. Are you sure he isn’t going to murder half of the Inquisition before we can get him to stop?” Alistair chuckled. “If we’re lucky, he just growls and barks. If anyone else besides Leliana comes to close, though... I am not sure. We shall see.” He turned to Teagan with a dead-serious expression. “You are to protect that dog, Teagan. _With your life._ ” He laughed at Teagan’s suddenly very white face. 

 

Alistair had not met their ambassador yet, at least not in person. So he was very irritated when this strange woman came up to him and bowed; and started talking about... things. Luckily, Teagan was nearby and saved the day: “Ah, Lady Montilyet! It is so good to see you, my dear.” Montilyet. He remembered that name. _That_ was the ambassador of the Inquisition? She seemed pretty young, but Alistair didn’t mind. “I am afraid we did not come to discuss such matters, my Lady. The king simply wishes to congratulate the Inquisitor to her success.” It maybe took Alistair two seconds too long to nod. Blast it, he would always mess something up. “Ah, I see. I am sorry to say then, that the Inquisitor is not in Skyhold at the present moment.” Alistair couldn’t suppress a groan. “What? I came all the way and she’s not even _here?_ Why are women always missing? Is that a trend now?” Teagan shot him a glaring stare and the ambassador looked a bit confused and possibly taken aback. Alistair didn’t care. Although, the Inquisitor’s absence did give him a very good reason to stay away from Denerim a while...  
“This place s _ridiculous!_ I cannot believe we are here, my love. I doubt they even...” His maybe-to-be-mistress didn’t get further than that, for that Alistair grabbed her wrist and said quietly: “Do not call me “My love”. I thought I was clear of this?” That woman quickly lowered her gaze and apologised. “I am sorry, my king. I did not think.” Alistair let go of her wrist. “I’m sure someone around here can point you to your chambers. Go there.” She nodded and hurried away.  
He bluntly ignored the looks Teagan shot him. The mabari had begun barking happily and Alistair looked up. Upon what he saw there, he smiled. “Leliana!” he called, ignoring any etiquette. His old friend looked up from the stairs she was descending and smiled back; hurried to get down.  
“Ali... King Alistair, what a pleasure!” she proclaimed once she was close enough. “To the Void with that”, he mumbled and hugged her at once. Leliana giggled and returned the embrace. It was so good to see an old friend again. “I wasn’t aware you were coming. Which means my agents have failed horribly.” Alistair shrugged. “Maybe our lovely mabari ate them before. He does tend to get aggressive.”  
“Did you come to see the Inquisitor? I wondered why you did not send a letter. Anyway, did you grow by any chance? And you changed your hair!” Alistair smirked. “You noticed, yes? To think I would actually grow... must be all the good food back in Denerim. And the infamous Grey Warden appetite. And my inability to get fat, too. Is it not neat? And do you like my hair? Eamon said I should change it. He said it looked too boyish.” Leliana giggled again. “It does look very nicely. Fitting for the crown, no?” Alistair groaned: “Nah. I hate wearing that thing. It ruins my hair! Plus I look silly wearing it.” He sighed. “Anyway, when is the Inquisitor due? Any ideas?”  
“My agents have not reported, but they also didn’t report _your arrival_... it shouldn’t be long, though. Do you wish me to show you to your quarters?” Alistair needed. “That would be nice. And I would not mind a little bit of talking too. You know... because of old times, my ever favourite bard in all of Ferelden.”

*

When Alistair retired for the night, he was unspeakable _happy_ that his maybe-possible-mistress had a room on her own. She had pleaded, he knew, but luckily he managed to get her _go_. He wasn’t ready to let them sleep in the same bed, if he would ever be. And besides, he doubted that the dog would allow that.  
With a sigh, Alistair fell onto the bed. He didn’t want to sleep. He would dream of her, he _always_ dreamt of her. Just how often had she come back in his dream; and he’d woken up? It was cruel, very cruel by his mind. Sadly, he couldn’t silence his head. Sighing, he closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep, dreaming of her; coming back to him.

Alistair was woken up rather rudely. Not only was the dog barking, someone was tugging at him. “Andraste’s flaming sword, what is it?!”, he grunted, sitting up. “Alistair”, he heard someone saying, “Come with me now. _Hurry._ ” Confused, he looked up. “Leliana? What is it... wait, are you _crying?_ ” She nodded: “Yes, I am. Now come on, Alistair, please. Don’t make me drag you. There’s something you have to see – in the courtyard.”  
Now he was even more confused, before he glanced towards the window. “It’s not even morning yet, can’t it...” The bard silenced him. “No, it cannot wait. Move now, Alistair.” She dragged him out of the bed now and he was only allowing that because something clearly upset his friend – and because who was he kidding, she could get rather scary.  
So he quickly dressed, before Leliana pushed him out, almost making him stumble. The mabari was following – and seemed rather excited. He actually wanted to look kingly, yet this was very impossible. One did not look kingly when a woman was pushing him around. “Leliana, there are stairs, watch it, would you?!”  
“Then move faster!” she replied and groaning; he obeyed. At this point, that was easier. She still pushed him down the stairs and it took Alistair all his balance not to land on his nose. He looked around and saw people standing in the courtyard – namely between the armoury and the tavern. One he recognised – the Inquisitor. He had only seen her once, but her being a Dalish elf made her stand out. He turned to Leliana. “You woke me up because the Inquisitor came back? Don’t you think that could’ve waited until morning?!” He was annoyed; and he gave a damn about reputation right now. “No, you fool. Just... look!” He groaned and turned his gaze back. Fine, there were more people – friends of the Inquisitor, no doubt. But why should he care? Alright, one of her friends seemingly preferred staying under a hood, but why should... And then this feeling hit him.  
_Darkspawn_.  
No. Not darkspawn, but... similar. “Maker’s Breath.”  
He looked at the cloaked figure. Whoever it was, it was talking to a dwarf. Alistair just faintly noticed how his eyes were shining. Leliana stopped pushing and he just barely noticed she tried to hide her tears. Alistair could just concentrate on that person talking to the dwarf who looked like he was making mental notes.  
“Ah, see, it seems like we have a kingly intervention here, yes?” Someone said that and Alistair glanced quickly. He recognised that man. He had been with the Inquisitor at Redcliffe Castle. It didn’t matter, though. Cloaked turned at that comment and faced his way, although he couldn’t see her face. Slowly, Alistair approached. “Inquisitor. Very good to see you again”, he said, while his eyes still lingered on Cloaked. “It’s been a while, King Alistair. What brings you here?” He did not look at her: “I meant to congratulate you. On your victory. I wanted to do it personal. You don’t mind, I hope.” Alistair stopped in front of Cloaked, having not looked at the Inquisitor once yet. This was very rude, he realised. He still didn’t care. His heart was pounding heavily and he just quickly turned his gaze towards the dog – he was anxious, looking at Cloaked. His tail wagged and there was such _hope_ in these puppy eyes... “Care to introduce me to your friends here?” he rasped, while his hand reached up. He needed that hood removed - _now._  
He didn’t hear her answer, because it was all grey now, everything, his whole world – a grey that always promised a storm. He did not let her speak; he grabbed her face and kissed her. He didn’t care; probably he was still asleep, having a terrible dream but he didn’t care. Right now everything was _okay._  
He pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers. “Maker, if that’s a dream again, please kill me now.” He wasn’t even realising his hands were shaking, until someone touched them. “If you do dream, I am not happy you covered me in blood and gore. It’s _in my hair!_ Or do you have strange fantasies including blood now? No, please don’t tell me.” Alistair pulled away so suddenly, as if he had been struck by lightning. “Don’t do that”, he whimpered. “Don’t do that to me. Not when I’m simply dreaming.” She pulled an annoyed face. “If you’re dreaming, then just _why_ are we not in your bedroom, but the stupid _courtyard?_ Certainly wouldn’t be my first choice.” She gazed around and Alistair now just noticed she was full of blood everywhere. And yes... there seemed to be gore stuck in her hair. “Although a tavern that close must be...” She never got to finish that sentence, as Alistair pulled her into a crushing embrace. He hid his face in the crook of her neck, smelling her. It smelled like her so much – bloody, dirty, unwashed and very stony... but definitely her. “It’s you”, he whispered hoarse. “It’s really you. You’re not dead. You are here...” He realised his was body was shaking. He didn’t mind. He couldn’t care being kingly now – she came back, she was...  
Something stroked his earlobe. Softly, caring. It was only then when he realised he was crying. She would always do that – stroking his earlobe when he was crying. Once he had asked why and she had replied because her father had done the same.  
Hastily, he pulled away. “Why did you stop? Where have you been? I thought you were....! I even...!” He stopped talking as she put a finger on his lips. “Right now, does it matter? I am back. Do you not understand what that means, my king?” He had forgotten. He had honestly forgotten. “The Calling”, he whispered against her finger and she smiled. “You actually... you actually _found_ it? No kidding me? Have you... taken it?” She shook her head. “No. I wanted to see you first. For all I knew you could be... and then... I wouldn’t have wanted it.” He grabbed her face and kissed her again. Alistair was entirely unaware of his bystanders any longer and he couldn’t care less. “I have missed you... so much.” She smiled and went down on her knees, bowing to him. “Do not worry, my king. I shall look into that matter; and I make sure it will not happen again.” His knees were buckling and he knew he was crying. “Sod it, woman”, he said. “I’ll tie you to me, that I’ll do.”  
“Very well. I guess I’ll like that.” He cried harder now and she rose up, catching him before he would fall down. He started sobbing and he gave a damn. “I love you”, he said. I’m dead without you. Please, never go again. You’re the brightest light I have. _Please..._ ” She pulled away a bit, to look in his face. He hiccupped and saw her crying. His ever strong, fearless leader who had shed no tear during the blight, cried. Gently she cupped his cheek and smiled.  
“I won’t go away. And I won’t let you go. You grow on people; much like fungus.” He laughed at that and embraced her again. Way too soon he was pushed away and he heard her shriek a little. Alistair grinned. He had forgotten about the dog. The mabari had pushed his mistress on the ground, wagging tail and slurping his tongue all across her face.  
He didn’t know where she had been. He didn’t know why she stopped sending letters. Suddenly, it also didn’t seem so important any longer. He didn’t know why she came to Skyhold alongside the Inquisitor, but even that seemed to matter little. Everything that mattered right now was her.  
It was a good day.


End file.
